


Razor Sharp

by BoxOnTheNile



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Other, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, but its a start, im not sorry, its non graphic but still incredibly fucked up, now with 100 percent more comfort, oof those are some bad first tags, or the start of it at least, pls heed them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-04 20:07:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15848457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoxOnTheNile/pseuds/BoxOnTheNile
Summary: It was supposed to be an easy mission- the old NR base was tactically useless, but there was medical information on the old servers that the doctors in Armonia needed.Tucker volunteered. He was fighting with Wash about something stupid and wanted to blow off steam. Epsilon bitched about it, but eventually agreed that “even Tucker can't fuck this up.”Felix wasn't supposed to be there.





	1. Razor Sharp

**Author's Note:**

> find my bingo card [here](http://boxonthenile.tumblr.com/post/177546124947/here-is-your-card-for-bad-things-happen-bingo).
> 
> This is for the square "Grabbed by the hair" and is chock full of my terrible fucking [headcanons](http://boxonthenile.tumblr.com/post/177451464347/me-tucker-makes-gross-objectifying-comments-on#notes) again!

It was supposed to be an easy mission- the old NR base was tactically useless, but there was medical information on the old servers that the doctors in Armonia needed. 

Tucker volunteered. He was fighting with Wash about something stupid and wanted to blow off steam. Epsilon bitched about it, but eventually agreed that “even Tucker can't fuck this up.”

 _Felix wasn't supposed to be there_. 

“Oh, captain, I'd hoped you would survive,” Felix murmured. He'd been waiting, somehow, ambushed Tucker the second he'd gotten into the abandoned infirmary. “It would have been such a waste.”

Tucker was down his firearm, the rifle being the first thing Felix went after, but he still had his sword. He kept silent, for once, sword active and humming in his hand.

“I mean,” Felix continued, knife in hand, “you say my name so pretty. Almost makes me want to hear you moan the rest of it.”

Tucker was glad his helmet hid his face- he was _terrified_ , the stitches in his stomach not quite healed, his brain already pulling up image after image of Felix holding him down and-

Felix stepped forward. Tucker stepped back.

“Oh,” Felix said, soft and a little breathless, “you're _scared_ of me.”

Tucker knew that tone, had heard it before, and it made his stomach turn. The last time he'd heard it was in Felix's bed.

Felix darted in, dodging Tucker’s clumsy lunge with grace, elbow driving down on his spine just below his chestplate. It was only Wash’s constant drills that have Tucker moving with the force of it, down into sloppy combat roll and back to his feet, but his stitches tugged painfully and he stumbled.

Felix slammed him against a wall. Tucker could feel the knife against his back and he froze, panicked. Felix twisted his sword arm until something in Tucker’s wrist _popped_ and the hilt slipped from his fingers, blade deactivating before it ever hit the floor.

He’s gonna die. Tucker knew it, right then, that he wasn’t leaving here alive. _I didn’t tell Caboose goodbye,_ he thought. _I didn’t apologize to Wash, I didn’t thank Grif and Simmons for being there, I didn’t, I didn’t, I didn’t._

He could handle being forced- he’d survived it before- but he was so goddamned afraid to die.

“You’re shaking,” Felix said, delighted. His fingers reached for the clasps of Tucker’s helmet and he flinched, jerking away. The knife at his back bit into his flesh and Tucker choked down a terrified noise. “Hold. Still.”

Tucker grit his teeth as Felix removed his helmet, trying to force down the tears welling. He didn’t get to see him cry. He sucked a sharp breath between his teeth when Felix grabbed his hair and yanked, pulling his head back. “You’re so fucking pretty, it’s hardly fair.”

“Fuck you,” Tucker hissed. This had to be the worst part- the waiting. The helplessness. “Just fucking- ah!” Felix pulled his hair harder, forcing his neck to bend until it hurt.

“Then you open your mouth and ruin it,” Felix sighed. The fist in Tucker’s hair tightened until he whined, then Felix used that grip to drag him down the derelict hall into an exam room. 

Tucker closed his eyes and reached for that hollow, empty space in his soul he’d made in the desert two years ago.

 

 

Felix didn’t kill him. Tucker wondered if that was worse, somehow.

 

 

Wash was in the vehicle bay when Tucker returned, four hours behind schedule. “Tuck-” he started, but Tucker shoved the data chip into his hands and kept walking, straight from the bay towards the officer’s bunks. 

The door to Donut’s room slid open, and Tucker punched in the lock code before fumbling the clasps of his helmet open.

“Your dreads,” Donut gasped, horrified. “Tucker, what happened, why are-” He cut off as he noticed the bruises on Tucker’s throat and jaw. He’d been there, in the desert, when Tucker finally broke and told him what CT was doing.

“Buzz ‘em,” Tucker said hoarsely. “I want ‘em gone.”

Donut’s eyes turned shadowed and sad, but he nodded. “Private Briggs is about your skin tone,” he said softly. “I can go borrow some concealer off her, too?” 

“Please.”

Donut slipped out the door, locking it as he went, and Tucker stripped his armor and undersuit and stole some of Donut’s pajamas. He was swimming it them, but they were soft and warm and helped him shed the hollow space he’d been in for the past six hours.

When Donut came back, Tucker was shaking with hurt, frightened sobs, and this, too, was familiar. He draped a blanket over Tucker and waited out the tears.

Later, they would cut Tucker’s hair short. Later, Donut would shave the shape of a plasma sword into the sides. Later, Tucker would eat breakfast with Caboose, apologise to Wash, thank Grif and Simmons without explanation. Later, he would go to Grey about the sprain in his wrist and listen to her lecture about stupid pointless injuries on easy missions.

For now, though, he was scared and he was hurting, and he went to the only person he could trust with this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> starting this bingo off with a terrible, terrible bang


	2. Dulled Edges

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS WASN'T GONNA GET A SECOND CHAPTER BUT IM A SLUT FOR HURT/COMFORT
> 
> so now it has.... three? tentatively?

The morning after his solo mission, Tucker showed up to debrief in full armor. Immediately, Wash knew something was wrong- Tucker never wore armor if he didn't have to, and no one else in the war room was armored except for Wash and Carolina. Tucker's report was short and succinct, no unnecessary innuendo or exaggeration. It set off enough alarm bells in Wash's head that he barely heard the report itself, just the sharp, strained edge to Tucker's voice.

But the strangest part was how, afterwards, Donut fell into step with him, and Tucker slipped neatly into his personal space. _Donut_ , who Wash had never actually seen have a full conversation with Tucker, in perfect sync with him, nudging his side with an elbow. 

Then Tucker took off his helmet and Wash almost tripped.

Epsilon winked into being next to Carolina and said what they were all thinking. “What the _fuck_ did you do to your hair?”

Tucker reflexively ran his fingers through his hair, now almost regulation, if not for the shapes shaved into to sides. “I cut it.”

“ _When_?” Epsilon was starting to get screechy.

“Last night.” Tucker shrugged. “Time for a change, I guess.”

Wash took a couple steps closer, pretended not to notice Tucker stepping back even when his instincts screamed _wrong, wrong, wrong._ His eyes were bloodshot and shadowed, like he hadn't slept.

Something happened on the mission, something he wasn't telling them. 

“It looks good,” Wash said, and Grif muttered “fucking whipped" behind him. Simmons smacked him.

Tucker glanced away. “Thanks. Look, I gotta- I have stuff to do, see you guys later.” He shoved his helmet back on and turned on his heel.

If he walked any faster, he’d be running.

“His schedule is clear,” Epsilon said, hologram flickering. “Doctor Grey insisted, said if we were sending him out with his sutures still healing he needed two days downtime after.”

“Drop it.” Donut’s voice was low. 

“Don't tell me what-"

“Epsilon. Drop. It.”

There was an edge that Wash had never heard from Donut before, an edge that promised violence. It's a chilling reminder that all of them have seen hell and come out scarred.

For once, Epsilon dropped it. Donut glared his avatar for a second longer before setting off after Tucker.

“Something happened and Donut knows what it is,” Wash said once Donut turned the corner. “I'm going to find out.”

“Me, too,” Epsilon said. Wash looked over at him. His avatar flickered through colors, purple-yellow-green, before Carolina's fingers twitched and it stopped. “He was weird for a while in the desert, I remember.”

“The desert?” Carolina asked. It felt familiar to Wash, but he couldn’t place it either.

“Right,” Grif said. “Tucker did an ambassador-y, archeological thing about two years ago, right? Wasn’t Donut with him?”

“Yeah,” Simmons confirmed.

“He was like this in Blood Gulch once, too,” Caboose said. “After he got his sword and Junior.”

“I don't remember that.” Epsilon flickered again.

“That's because you weren't there,” Caboose said simply, “and I did not tell you, because Tucker told me he was fine and to mind my own business. But he's not fine, and he's my friend, so it is my business.” He looked worriedly down the hall where Tucker had gone. 

“And none of you ever asked about it?” Wash pressed.

“When would we have noticed?” Grif snapped. “We were still trying to kill each other in Blood Gulch and busy running from _you_ in the desert.”

Wash flinched, looking away. 

“Enough,” Carolina said. “Regardless of what's happened before, something is wrong _now_ , and we know about it. We need figure out what.”

“We could, you know, ask,” Grif said.

Epsilon winked out and reappeared directly in front of Grif. “Would you answer that question honestly?”

“No, but then we could all move on with our fucking lives.” 

“I’m going,” Wash said. Epsilon flashed in front of him.

“Take me, too. Not in your implants!” he said quickly. 

“Absolutely not,” Wash told him, and walked through his avatar. 

He headed for the officer’s barracks- if Tucker wasn’t there, someone else may have seen him. 

“-have time to process things?”

Wash slowed when he heard Donut’s voice from an abandoned storage room. Silently, he crept closer. 

“Process what, Donut?” That was Tucker, sounding exhausted.

“That he’s dead. You watched him die, after everything he did to you, and immediately got pulled into some stupid Blue Team Drama, and then you were basically teaching Wash how to be a person again, and then Carolina, and the crash, and all of this. And before you ever really come to terms with the fact he’s dead, Felix-” Donut stopped. “I just think you should tell someone.”

Felix? Felix can’t have been at the old NR base, there was no way he could have known anyone would be there, let alone Tucker. And if he _had_ been there, Wash doubted Tucker would have made it home at all. The thought made him shiver.

“I did.”

Donut sighed. “You did. I just wish I could, I don’t know, go back in time and stop you from going.”

“He would have killed anyone else, Donut, I thought he was gonna kill me! I almost wish-”

“Don’t,” Donut interrupted, upset. “ _Don’t_ say that. I know everything feels awful right now but you know that’s not true.”

“It’s the _third fucking time_ , Donut. In _six years._ And the first time I- oh fuck.”

“Tuck?”

“I gotta figure out how to ask Grey for Plan B,” Tucker said hoarsely, and Wash’s blood runs cold.

He was already going to kill Felix. Now the desire is consuming, and it would be so easy to let that anger take over and drive him until he’s gotten what he wants-

But he remembered pulling the trigger on Lopez, on Donut, and fought to pull that rage back under control. Later. Later, he’ll plan exactly how he’ll murder Felix and his monster of a partner, but right now his ~~crush~~ teammate was hurting.

Wash just had to figure out how to approach him.


	3. Feather Soft

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey im posting on my phone at work after frantically adding html so lemme know if i dropped a bracket somewhere.

Tuckers nodded along with Grey’s scolding, but he wasn’t really paying attention as she lectured him about how they couldn’t afford for him to be down longer than his stab wound was keeping him already and what if you’d broken your arm, Captain Tucker, instead of just a sprain?

“I’m sorry, Doctor,” he said, hoping his voice sounded appropriately apologetic. He wanted to go back to his room and put his armor on again. He still felt hollowed out. ~~He still felt hands on him.~~ “Can I make you a little more disappointed?”

“I’m not disappointed,” she said. “I almost expected it from you, but go ahead.”

“I need an emergency contraceptive,” he muttered, praying she would jump to the wrong conclusion. 

She did. “I thought Agent Washington would be more responsible than that,” she said sharply. “Unprotected- and with stitches!”

Wash? Not the person he expected her to suspect. Donut, maybe, or any of the half dozen officers that have flirted with him since he got out of the hospital, but Wash? No no, Wash didn’t like him, not like that. They were friends _maybe._

“It was, uh, pretty. Pretty spur of the moment.” Tucker lied.

Grey was still frowning, but she tapped at her tablet. “Still, he should know better. You both should know better.”

“I know,” Tucker said. Please, please just let this be over. He didn’t wanna talk about it, didn’t wanna think about, but he had to handle this one thing so he could put it behind him and put a bullet in Felix.

Felix, whose hands had been in his hair and on his hips and-

“Captain?”

Tucker jerked away from Grey’s gentle touch to his shoulder. She slowly lowered her hand. “Captain, are you alright? Are you still in pain?”

“No, I’m fine. I’m fine. Just, heh, zoned out for a second, I guess.”

Grey’s brow furrowed. “Tucker,” she said gently. “Was it really Washington, and are you being hurt?”

“I’m not being hurt,” he said. “I just want to make sure I’m being responsible. You said it yourself- Chorus can’t afford to have me benched any longer than I already am.”

She visibly, obviously, doesn't believe him. “Would you rather talk to Doctor Jacobi?” 

Tucker shook his head. Jacobi, the New Republic’s CMO, was still overseeing the transfer of all her data from the old HQ to Armonia. She was busy. Everyone was busy. They couldn't afford to let him slow them down. “I’m fine, Doctor Grey.” 

“Let me know when you’re ready to tell me the truth,” she sighed. “I’ll get you the contraceptive.”

Tucker swallowed the pill without hesitation and bolted.

He smacked straight into someone the second he stepped out of the hospital building. Their hand fell to his waist to steady him and for a moment CT was there pressing him to the rough stone of the temple wall-

“Tucker?”

“Wash!” He backpedalled several steps, ripping himself from Wash's arms. He watched a horrified look cross Wash's face and he dropped his arms deliberately to sides, hands curling into fists.

He knows, Tucker thought. No, he can't know, Donut wouldn't tell anyone, but Wash was pointedly not in Tucker's space, hands where Tucker could clearly see them, voice obviously worried. Pitying? 

“Can we talk?” he asked, and Tucker scrambled to pull himself from that anxious spiral. 

Right, right, they had been fighting. About what? It seemed so trivial, so unimportant now that Tucker had almost died, had been-

_-a hand fisted in his hair, shoving his face against the exam table, the other hand fumbling open the release on his survival suit-_

Tucker physically shook the memory away. “Yeah, uh, sure. Here?”

Wash glanced around. “Do you feel safer here?”

That cemented it into certainty. “How and when,” Tucker said, voice flat.

“I overheard you and Donut this morning,” Wash admitted softly, and Tucker wanted to hit him, wanted to scream, wanted to peel out of his own fucking skin if only to stop the phantom feelings of someone _touching_ him.

“Well?” Tucker demanded. “Say it! How you're sorry, how it's not my fault, whatever bullshit makes you feel like you did something to _help._ ” His voice broke; he just wanted to go crawl into the officer's showers until he burned the ghost of Felix's fingers off him.

“No,” Wash said, and not hitting him became an actual challenge, “because it is bullshit.” He paused long enough to glare at a couple cadets trying to inch close enough to eavesdrop and sent them scurrying off. “And it sounds like you've already heard it. And I don't- I don't know how to help, but-”

“Just don't,” Tucker hissed. “Don't you fucking dare.” He shoved past Washington and forced himself not to run. This wasn't a retreat, this wasn't _shame._

It wasn't. It wasn't.

 _It's not my fault_. What bullshit. If he'd been better, faster, stronger, if he'd made different choices, it never would have happened. He knew how take the steps and avoid it and he _didn't._

His fault. His mistake. His responsibility. 

Tucker reached the officer's bunks and stopped. The fucking showers didn't lock. The door didn't lock, he couldn't do that, he couldn't, he _couldn't._

Could someone watch the door? Caboose and Simmons were on a mission- left an hour ago. Donut was training, Carolina was dragging Grif through his own lessons, and Tucker didn't trust Sarge that much.

Which left Wash, who Tucker had just yelled at. Wash, _who knew._ Wash, who would absolutely fucking stand outside the door and chase off anyone who so much as looked at it. Wash, who Grey, for some reason, thought was already sleeping with him. 

Wash, who didn't _fucking_ say the stupid lies Tucker had expected.

He doubled back to his room and grabbed his tablet.

**_TKR:_ ** _u wanna help?_

The reply came faster than he expected. 

**_WSH:_ ** _Yes. However you need._

Tucker typed out a response, deleted it, tried again.

**_TKR:_ ** _officer shwrs dont lock_  
**_WSH:_ ** _Be there in five._

Tucker paced the hall, nails digging into his arm. The pain kept the phantom sensations away for a bit. Wash inched around the corner after a few minutes. 

“I'm sorry,” he said softly. 

“M'the one who yelled,” Tucker muttered. “Just don't. Please.”

It’s obvious he wants to say something, but he grits his teeth and nods. “Want me to watch the door?” 

Tucker nodded sharply and stepped into the showers, pushing the door shut with a decisive click. He heard the soft shuffle of Wash moving to stand in front of it.

The same safe feeling he'd felt with Donut unfurled in his chest and he wanted to sob. His team always had his back. 

He stripped and almost ran into the farthest stall, twisting the knob hot as he can stand and further. It hurt, burned, but the sting overpowered the remembered touches and he felt like he could fucking breathe for the first time since Felix pressed the knife to his back. He scrubbed his skin raw and breathed. And breathed. And breathed.

There were fingertip bruises on his hips, and he stared at them too long. He couldn’t figure out how it even happened. The timing was perfect, like the stars aligned in some sick sadism, like he’d known.

_Like he’d known._

Tucker nearly threw himself out of the shower stall, tripping as he tried to move while pulling his pants back up. His shirt was only half on when he burst out the door.

“Tucker?” Wash said, but Tucker was already headed down the hall.

Later, the cadets would probably talk about Captain Tucker sprinting down the streets of Armonia, barefoot, in wet clothing, Agent Washington a step behind, but Tucker didn’t care much for that now. Now, there was nothing more important than shoving past the poor cadet stationed outside the War Room to throw open the door and demand, “Call them back.”

Doyle and Kimball stopped mid-argument to stare. Wash stepped into the room behind him and closed the door. “Tucker,” Kimball said, “what-”

“Caboose and Simmons. Call them back, there’s a mole.”

“That’s quite an accusation, Captain,” Doyle said. “There’s a protocol to this, a formal investigation-”

“There’s a mole because there’s no other way Felix could have been there yesterday.” Why are they arguing with him, they need to call Simmons and Caboose back _now_. The mercs will kill them for sure.

Kimball looked at Tucker a second longer before turning on her heel and walking to the command console. “Lieutenant Andersmith, do you read?”

_“Loud and clear, ma’am.”_

“Return to Armonia immediately, we have reason to believe you’ve been compromised.”

_“Right away, ma’am.”_

She ended the transmission. “Captain, would you like to give us a revised version of your report from this morning? What do you mean Felix was there?”

“Exactly what I said.” He didn’t want to do this, didn’t want to talk about this, but he can’t let this mole keeping feeding information to Felix and Locus. “He was there, ‘Ness, he…” Tucker glanced down, fighting to keep himself together. “Just, please. Believe me.”

Kimball nodded, but Doyle didn't. He looked ready to argue until Wash said, “Tucker is right, General.” 

“We do need a full report, Tucker,” Kimball said, “but we can wait for Caboose and Simmons to make it back.”

“Yeah,” Tucker said softly. He didn't want to do this, he just wanted this to be _over._ Suddenly he was exhausted, that empty space opening up in his heart and pulling him down until he's numb. He didn't even notice he'd zoned out until something soft and heavy draped across his shoulders. 

Donut carefully tugged the edges of the blanket together and guided him into a chair. “You know,” he said, quiet, “when I said you should tell someone else, I meant Grey or Jacobi. Instead, I got a summons from General Doyle and message from Wash saying you're dissociating.”

“I'm fine.”

“How long have you been here?”

Tucker can't answer that. 

“Yeah,” Donut said, forehead lined with worry. Tucker could see Carolina, Grif, and Sarge behind him. Wash stood in front of the door. “Simmons and Caboose just landed. They were a lot less quiet coming back, so it’s only been about twenty minutes. You didn’t lose hours this time.”

“What do you mean ‘hours’?” Epsilon projected into the space above the War Table. “What did the Generals mean when they said you withheld information?” He flickered yellow-purple-yellow-purple until Carolina bit back a sound of pain. “One sec, transferring to Armonia’s servers.”

Simmons shoved through the door before Epsilon reappeared. “What the fuck, Tucker!”

“Simmons, don’t-” Donut started, but Simmons bulldozed over him.

“We were doing something actually important, you can’t just call us back because you saw something at Forzando yesterday that scared you!”

“Captain Simmons, that’s enough,” Kimball said sharply. Simmons’s scowled, but closed his mouth. “Captain Tucker, when you said Felix was there-”

“He was, ‘Ness, _he-_ ” Tucker’s voice broke again. The word, the one he refused to say, to think, to even _consider _since all the way back to Blood Gulch, screamed itself in his brain. He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe around that fucking word and everything was funneling down into horrific memories that jumbled and blended together until he wasn’t sure what happened when and-__

__He was pulled into a hug he would recognize anywhere. Caboose held him against his chest and Tucker shattered, terrified sobs clawing their way out as he clung to his brother. Caboose sunk to the floor and sat there, Tucker blanket-wrapped and crying in his lap._ _

__“Tucker?” Donut crouched so he could look him in the eye. “Do you want me to throw them out?”_ _

__He was so, so tempted to say yes, to say fuck it, let the Generals decide whatever they wanted, but if they chose wrong?_ _

__He had a sudden, vivid image of Matthews or Jensen or, god forbid, _Palomo_ held down as one of those black-armored pirates pawed at their survival suits. No, he couldn't let that happen, so he drew in a deep, shuddering breath and rubbed at his jaw with his wrist until the concealer wore away. _ _

__“Is that a hickey?” Grif asked, subdued._ _

__“It's only a hickey when it's consensual,” Donut answered, quiet and furious._ _

__You could hear a pin drop in the resulting silence. Caboose's arms tightened around Tucker, and he shook._ _

__“I've already compiled a list of everyone who knew about yesterday's mission and everyone who could have found out.” Epsilon’s voice echoed oddly, and the light Tucker could see from the floor strobed between cobalt and purple. “Promise me we're gonna kill him.”_ _

__“Forward the list to my tablet,” Kimball said. “I'll start narrowing it down in my office.”_ _

__“Done,” Epsilon said. Footsteps, and the door opened and closed. The light that was Epsilon winked out before his avatar appeared in Tucker's line of sight. “Why did you let us help? Why go to Donut before your team? Why didn't you trust us?”_ _

__“Because we-” Donut stopped himself and looked to Tucker. He nodded. “We already had a system in place. Thanks for blowing a hole in CT, but he deserved a slower death.”_ _

__“CT?” Carolina asked at the same moment Grif said, “The guy from the desert?”_ _

__“We worked with him a couple months,” Tucker said hoarsely. It's a little easier to talk about this one; there's two years and a murder between then and now. “I guess he decided the Sangheili weren't his type, and that left me or Donut. I was down for it once and left disappointed. He was one of those guys where one ‘yes’ means it's always okay.”_ _

__Tucker had bitched that first time about how mediocre it was, how he had better orgasms alone. A week later, CT had followed him after hours to his tent and fucked him again, Tucker left reeling as to what was happening until CT had his hand down Tucker's pants._ _

__Epsilon strobed purple-blue again, form flickering and indistinct. “Can I come in?”_ _

__It took a moment for Tucker to realize what he was asking, and another make a decision, but he nodded again. Epsilon vanished the same second a feather soft presence spread across Tucker's neurons. The sensory flashbacks started to let up immediately._ _

___~Yeah, none of that,~_ Epsilon said. _~That's all bullshit we can deal with later.~_ There was the distinct impression of those memories being bundled up and shoved in a box. _ _

__Tucker burst back into tears. He wasn't okay, and it would be a long time before he was, but right now he was safe, and it was enough._ _

__It was enough._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And done.


End file.
